


Collision Course

by rainer76



Category: Fringe
Genre: First encounters in the swinging sixties. Written for the kink-meme, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainer76/pseuds/rainer76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Regarding ages – I’m basing this on John Noble’s birth year, 1948 – and for my own purposes I’m making all three characters the same age. I realise Leonard Nimoy’s considerably older in reality but there’s the wonders of fan-fiction. As a rough guide-line, Walter’s born in 1948, hits university at eighteen in 1966, and is thirty at the time of Peter’s birth in ‘78.  Subsequently, Walter's thirty-seven when he 'breaks the universe', and forty-two when he's committed to Saint Claire's.</p></blockquote>





	Collision Course

Walter meets Nina first.

In 1966 her hair’s a torch, skin alabaster pure. Nina wore mini-dresses, favoured European cigarettes with long-stemmed holders, and came from old money. She studied sociology at Harvard with a focus on law, the burgeoning political rights movement. Nina organised boycotts with the express purpose of alienating her overly rich parents. Walter, who didn’t come from money and arrived at Harvard under a flurry of scholarships, felt ill refined in her presence. The assured authority in Nina’s tone transfixed Walter: how she would stare down men twice her age without flinching. She was going to save the world, Nina said, one war at a time.

The interior of her old VW became rank with rolled up joints, cloyingly sweet as she smuggled young men across the border into Canada. Tell me your plans, she would say, and Nina, who didn’t have a scientific bone in her body but possessed mad organisational skills, would listen intently as Walter prattled about the wonders of science. She would lie on her belly in his dorm room, stretched across stained carpet, legs folded behind her, heels swinging idly in the air, and blow smoke rings at the ceiling, twirling her cigarette holder like a flapper from the 1930s. Walter fell in love with her curiosity, with her stolen kisses. Nina would return to her dorm with her knickers tucked into her purse, still wet with his fluids.

Nina flitted into Walter’s life and _left _. Beholden to no man.__

She would show up again, with a beautiful Spanish boy hanging off her arm, with ivory league suitors panting at her every word. On one memorable occasion, Nina returned with a blonde woman. Walter wrote his first thesis to the harmony of their lovemaking - two women writhing three feet away on his narrow bed - while the coherency of his thoughts became tangled. In 1966, he thinks Nina is the woman he’ll marry.

Oddly, Walter doesn’t meet William Bell until 1967, the direct correlation with oddness being they shared access to a lab _for a year _without noticing one another. Walter’s ability to bury his head in work was a long-standing tradition, and William’s preferred time for experimentation (against campus policy) ran in the witching hours. To be honest, they don’t interact until the lab accidently explodes. The department head spends seventy-two hours trying to determine which of their experiments was responsible, while Walter and Bell point the finger accusingly at one another. “He’s a jerk,” Walter mutters.__

“I think he’s dreamy,” Nina responds.

“I do not perform unstable experiments!” Nina looks at him: Walter flushes to his hairline and draws deeply on his joint.

Nina’s voice becomes arch. “I was thinking about blowing up the draftee board, Walter. Mind if I use your ‘experiment’ to help?”

“Prison would be so kind to you,” Walter says tartly. Nina laughs, spinning around, keeping pace with him as she walks backwards. She steals the smoke from his hand as Walter kicks half-heartedly at a pebble. “I could lose my scholarship over this!”

“No you won’t. You’re _brilliant _, Walter. Harvard won’t let you go that easily.”__

He looks sweetly surprised at her words. Nina places a hand on his chest, draws them both to a stop. She nibbles his bottom lip, seals her mouth over Walter’s, and blows smoke down his lungs. Some of the rigidness leaves his body. Walter places a hand on her rib cage, thumb brushing against the curve of her breast. “I think there’s a well-hidden garden around here somewhere,” he invites.

Nina's mouth curves into a smile. “Thank god. And I think you should introduce me to this William character,” she adds, her eyes mock innocent. “Doesn’t he remind you of….?”

“No. He doesn’t. Absolutely not.”

“Dreamy,” Nina repeats.

 

***

“...I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was sharing lab-space with a scientific hack!”

Bell narrows his eyes dangerously. Nina watches them both, utterly fascinated.

“Single-handedly you managed to destroy a years work of scientific research,” Bell says. “Why don’t you be the bigger man, and admit to the Dean it was your fault?”

“I’m already the bigger man in all other respects,” Walter pounces – and Nina rolls her eyes because really, William fell into that one. “I thought you’d like your share of credit this time.”

“Boys,” Nina interrupts. “Did it occur to you neither one was at fault? That perhaps, individually the experiments were harmless but performed within proximity of one another…?” She arches one eyebrow, a smile curving the corner of her mouth as she trails her eyes down William’s lanky form. “Maybe sharing space together the two experiments were just…overly volatile...like the pair of you.”

Bell stares at her. “And you are?”

Nina dimples at him. “Turned on. I love a good argument.”

Bell blinks at her then looks away in apparent bemusement. “It’s a sound theory,” he allows, after a moment.

“Good enough for the Dean?” Walter asks grudgingly.

“If he doesn’t want to lose two of the most promising scientific minds of the century, it is. Now,” Nina continues, “someone owes me sex.”

Nina thinks it’s her due two teenage boys tear their clothes off to oblige. William hesitates a fraction of a second, while Walter smirks at him, assured of his position. It’s a competition, Nina realises, and being in the middle of combustible forces only ratchets up her own sense of pleasure. She pulls on the tight curls of Walter’s hair, fucks herself on his face and clever tongue. She twists into William’s touch, arching her torso, and sees the calculated distance in his eyes. Nina, like Walter, like Bell (she assumes), doesn’t believe in borders or structured rules, doesn’t believe in the dogma of marriage. Nina grew up watching the lines of misery on her mothers face, she will not submit to a similiar path. Nina has sex with whom she wants when she wants. The only guideline: the willingness of her bed partners and their ability to have fun.

She drags William into a kiss, lets their teeth clash, curls her fingers around his cock and strokes upward, pinches the tip, before gliding her hand back down. He shudders against her. Walter stabs his tongue inward, dragging against her clit, his hands pushing her thighs further apart. As lovers, they’re as night and day. Walter loses himself in the passion of the moment, his hands tugging her into position, demanding attention. Now. William never loses the keen edge of observation, cataloguing her responses, something this side of disconnected in his encounter.

Nina wants to smash through his glass wall.

William smiles at her as Bishop slides up Nina’s body, his cock slipping inside with a stretch of discomfit. Bell hooks two fingers inside Nina’s mouth, lets her tongue twirl around them, sucking hot and wet. With the other, he pinches her nipple cruelly, rolling the bud between thumb and forefinger. Nina sucks hard, showing Bell exactly what she can do if he was inclined to put other things in her mouth. William's smile twists, fractured as cubism art.

Walter’s hips snap into her, his skin slick with sweat. Nina thinks she can smell marijuana from his pores, then realises she’s still on a high. The bright afternoon sun streams through the windows and the distant foghorn of a student rally punctuates each thrust, each slap of skin against skin. She moans deep in her throat when William slips his fingers out of her mouth.

“Relax,” he says. Confused, Nina follows him with her eyes. It takes Nina a beat to realise William wasn’t addressing her, and then he slips a finger between Walter’s cheeks. Bishop stutters to a stop, the smooth action of his body derailed, his expression almost comical. “I thought you liked experimenting,” William teases, with enough dare in his voice to make Walter grit his teeth. He presses hard into Nina, drives his hips down, away, until she feels split open, wedged and breathless under Walter's weight. Bell follows, he cricks his finger upward and strokes. The sound Walter makes is animal low, his breath hot against the side of Nina’s throat. Her hands scrabble across his shoulders, tracing the path of latissimus dorsi, down narrow hips to the small of his back. Nina surges against him, cants her hips upward until he sinks an impossible inch. Walter stares at her. His curls are damp on his forehead, coltish lean, still filling into his bulk.

Walter withdraws; he fucks into Bell’s hand, receding from Nina’s body like a tide then snaps back again. Behind him, William starts jerking himself off, following Walter’s movement, pressing two fingers into his body, followed by three.

Nina wants to pull William close, but she can’t quite reach him. He hangs from the periphery of her reach, tantalizingly close. His attention never wavers from Walter and Nina feels a prickle of unease before it’s washed away, drawn from her consciousness with sparks of pleasure. She comes with a click in her inner ear, like a closed circuit; William stares at her, his eyes dark as river stones.

Above her, Walter becomes increasingly erratic, his expression slack. Nina can count the seconds down, listen to his breathy moan, except in the crucial second before he ejaculates, William tugs him out of her body, exposing Bishop on the rumpled sheets. Walter convulses, upright on his knees, William’s arm braced around his torso, and comes. He messes his own chest, William’s forearm.

Nina watches the two of them and feels scorched.

Walter wears his heart on his sleeve, the guiding emotion of his actions readable as an open book. It’s not Walter who intrigues Nina but the inscrutable regard of the man behind him. William rubs off between Bishop’s thighs, closing them tight to provide the necessary friction. The tip of his cock peeks through obscenely with each thrust. Walter’s pliable in his arms; ribs heaving like a bellows as he draws in air. Nina shifts back slightly then sits up, stomach muscles protesting, and kisses Walter’s sternum. She feels the wetness splash on her abdomen, upper thighs, when William finally follows them over. She could live in the middle of a warzone, Nina decides, she could live there comfortably.

Nina pads away from the bed, ruffles through Walter’s belongings until she finds a bong, then brings it back to the bed. William rolls onto his back, arm out-flung. Nina sketches across his full lips, tilts her head downward until her hair is a red curtain, blocking Walter from sight. “Did anyone ever tell you look like….?”

“I _hate _that show,” William cuts her off, vehemently.__

Nina smirks, delighted. “Walter watches it every week.”

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding ages – I’m basing this on John Noble’s birth year, 1948 – and for my own purposes I’m making all three characters the same age. I realise Leonard Nimoy’s considerably older in reality but there’s the wonders of fan-fiction. As a rough guide-line, Walter’s born in 1948, hits university at eighteen in 1966, and is thirty at the time of Peter’s birth in ‘78. Subsequently, Walter's thirty-seven when he 'breaks the universe', and forty-two when he's committed to Saint Claire's.


End file.
